by Sara Craven
'Yes.' she said. 'Thank you.'
He got lithely to his feet 'Then I'll go, and leave you to your repose.'
'I think I've slept enough,' Olivia said with asperity. 'It seems to have addled my brain.' She got to her feet too, leaching down for her carrier. 'There's just one thing—who do I report to on Monday?'
'Kim worked for me.' He smiled at her, the silvery eyes glinting. 'Did I forget to mention it?'
And was gone.
The agency had phoned twice during the day, Olivia discovered when she got bade to her flat And there was also a message from Jeremy, with a number where he could be reached after five.
Judging from the background noise, and the fact that he had to be called to the phone, Olivia decided that he must be in another pub or wine bar, and sighed inwardly.
His voice was ebullient as he greeted her. 'Hi, sweetie. How's everything going?'
'Good, I think,' she returned, more sedately. 'Actually, I've been offered a job,'.
'Yes, with the temp agency. You told me.'
'No, this is slightly different—'
'Well, I hope it pays well,' he cut across her. 'Because I've been checking out flats, and the kind of thing we'll need is going to cost an arm and a leg.'
Her spirits revived slightly. 'Can we go and look at some properties—this weekend, maybe?'
'Not a chance, I'm afraid, darling. One of our big clients is sponsoring a pro-am golf tournament in the Midlands, and I have to go and show the flag—make sure it all goes smoothly.'
'Oh,' Olivia said flatly. 'Does that mean I won't be seeing you?'
'Darling, I'm completely snowed under at the office. Going back there presently to do some catching up, actually. I haven't got any real free time until next week'
She said slowly, 'Well, couldn't I come to this golf tournament with you?'
'Livvy, you'd be bored witless. And I'm there to work, so I'd have no time to spend with you.'
Dry-mouthed, she said, 'There'd be the nights…'
'That's not guaranteed either.' His tone was brisk. If they want to stay up drinking until dawn, I'll have to keep with them in case of trouble.'
'Yes,' Olivia managed. 'Yes, I see.'
'Is something wrong?'
She said slowly, 'I suppose I'm a little disappointed…'
'I'm sorry, sweetheart, but the job has to take priority at the moment. And we can't spend our lives in each other's pockets. I mean we both need our space. What?' His voice became muffled 'Yes—fine—I'm coming right now.
He came back to her. 'Livvy—I have to run. But I'll be in touch when I get back from the golf. Treat yourself to a new dress, and I'll take you clubbing.'
After he'd rung off she sat for a while, staring sightlessly at the jug of pink rosebuds, trying to come to terms with the fact that she'd just offered herself to Jeremy and been rejected.
He probably wouldn't regard it like that, yet essentially that was what had happened, she thought numbly, and he hadn't even sounded particularly regretful.
She'd intended to tell him everything—how she'd tracked down the missing files at Academy Productions and been offered more work on the strength of it.
And how Declan had taken her out to dinner. She'd planned to treat it jokily—nice food, shame about the company—but Jeremy hadn't given her the chance. He didn't even seem interested in how she was spending her time.
That was the hurtful tiling, she thought sadly. Surely he hadn't always been like this—had he?
Yet, looking back, she could remember all the hours they'd spent as he'd dissected his failing marriage, or brooded over the office politics which he'd complained were holding him back.
Not that she'd minded, she told herself with emphasis. On the contrary, she'd been glad to be there for him— happy to know she'd be able to make it all up to him—but it hadn't left a lot of time for her own day-to-day triumphs and anxieties. But then, compared with his, her career seemed a very muted thing.
Declan's words, 'He finds success in others a little swamping,' suddenly re-echoed in her mind.
I'll never be a challenge to him, she thought bleakly. Is that the attraction?
'No,' she said angrily, aloud. 'I can't believe it—and I won't.' Oh, what's happening to me? I never had all these doubts before…
She stopped, her throat tightening. Because she knew exactly what was happening to her. The cause of her doubts was six feet tall, with eyes that gleamed like silver and a smile that had curled into her mind.
He was called Declan Malone, and from Monday she would be spending every working day in his company.
Which could turn out to be the worst and most dangerous decision she'd ever made in her life.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Right up to the moment when she walked up to the glass door of Academy Productions and pressed the entrance buzzer, Olivia hadn't been sure she was going through with it.
That morning, she'd looked at the newly fitted panic button beside her front door and been sorely tempted to use it Because she was panicking badly.
'Get a grip,' she adjured herself, and marched determinedly into the building.
When she arrived in Reception, she was greeted by Mimi grinning broadly. 'Welcome back,' she whispered 'Carol's got a face like vinegar, so you must have done something right'
'I'm not so sure about that,' Olivia returned.
She'd just hung up her jacket when Carol bustled in.
'So there you are,' she said sharply. 'Just because Declan won't be in till this afternoon does not mean you can waste time down here. I have some company administration details to go through with you, and I've already been up to your office twice.'
'I'm sorry,' Olivia returned neutrally. 'I was here for nine am.'
Carol sniffed. 'I think you'll find the real high-fliers arrive well before that Anyway, come along; I haven't got all day.'
Olivia dutifully filled in the forms she was handed, and gave her National Insurance number.
Having the morning alone seemed like a reprieve, until Carol passed her a small cassette.
'Declan left this for you last night,' she said ungraciously. 'I suggest you deal with it before he comes back.' And went off with her paperwork.
Last night? Olivia repeated to herself, blankly. That can't be right She slotted the cassette into the playback machine, and slipped on the earphones.
hope you're listening to this, Olivia, or I shall feel a right eejit' The faintly amused drawl made her feel as if he was standing beside her. She almost glanced up to look at him. 'I thought maybe you should read through the scripts you salvaged—familiarise yourself with them as we'll be working on them together. I've left some further notes about William Pitt on this tape, which I'd like you to add to the file.'
There was a pause. 'And before you start gnashing your teeth and calling me names, let me say I never in this world took it for granted that you'd be working fen: me. I just hoped. See you later.'
Oh, very clever, Olivia thought savagely as she clicked on to Scriptec. And very manipulative, too, Mr Malone.
Formality, she'd decided, was the safeguard she'd employ. She would keep the boss and secretary limits strictly observed Because even if Jeremy did not exist, there could never be any personal relationship between herself and Declan Malone. He was a media star, and she'd been behaving like the worst kind of groupie—glamoured and bedazzled by his charm.
And the most sensible course would be to treat it as if it was some kind of allergy that she'd picked up, she thought fiercely. And avoid any recurrence.
However, as she began to type the notes he'd left she found she was becoming interested in spite of herself. History hadn't been a particular interest of hers at school, but this series was going to be based firmly on the personalities of its subjects, and the turbulent times they'd lived through. She could see how that could capture viewers' imaginations.
It was past midday when she finished reading the draft scripts. As she replaced them in their fo
lder she heard footsteps in the corridor outside, and Declan's voice.
She looked up, startled, as he came in, tossing a last remark over his shoulder. He paused in the doorway, leaning against the frame, looking her over critically. 'So you came.'
'Of course. What did you expect?'
'Oh, there are few certainties where you're concerned, Olivia. I soon learned that.' He paused. 'What do you think of William Pitt?'
She glanced down at the folder. 'A very complex character. It made me wonder what he might have achieved if he hadn't died so young.'
'Not all his achievements were so great,' Declan said caustically. 'He introduced the first ever income tax to pay for the Napoleonic Wars.' His mouth twisted. 'Maybe someone should tell the Treasury that Bonaparte's dead'
He straightened. 'Anyway, get your jacket We're going to lunch.'
'I'd prefer to have a sandwich at my desk.'
'I'm sure you would, but it isn't a social invitation,' he said brusquely. 'I'm having a working lunch with Matt Hartley, who's going to produce the series. I need you to take notes. I'll see you in Reception in five minutes.'
He turned and left.
Olivia drew a deep breath. She need not have worried about drawing limits, she thought Declan had done it himself in a few well-chosen words.
So, now she knew exactly where she stood, and she should have been reassured at the very least Instead, she had the strange impression that she'd lost something that was very precious to her. And that, she thought, as she trailed downstairs to fetch her jacket, made no sense at all.
By the end of her first complete week at Academy Productions, Olivia was beginning to feel less edgy. Declan's behaviour continued to be impersonal and businesslike. He was not an easy taskmaster, as she'd soon discovered, expecting every request to be dealt with instantly and caustic when the results fell short of his expectations, but this had placed her on her mettle, and she took pride in ensuring he had little to complain about.
It was like an unspoken contest between them, with the preferred result an honourable draw.
She was at her desk dealing with his mail just after eight-thirty each morning, and she rarely left before six, sometimes staying much later.
As well as the series, he was preparing for the new Parliamentary session, listing possible legislation, and those politicians who'd be ready to attack or defend it.
'But that's mainly a stand-by agenda,' he'd told Olivia once. It's the fighting behind the scenes that interests me most The issues they don't want to be asked about So you offer the bait—then catch them off-guard—get them to speak outside the official parameters—say things they never intended.'
'Does that always work?' Olivia had asked doubtfully.
'No—it's like a game of chess. You have to be thinking at least three moves ahead, while they try to block you, until someone runs out of options.' He'd shaken his head 'When it works it makes compulsive television.'
No, Olivia thought. It's you that makes it compulsive.
She'd been to the TV studios with him, and watched him in front of the camera—seen how it loved him, felt the excitement, the sense of danger he exuded. It had stirred the fine hairs on the nape of her neck and sent a shiver tingling down her spine.
Because she was working hard, it left her little time to brood over Jeremy.
He'd come back from his golf tournament, full of beans about how well it had gone, and the triumphant part he'd played in it all.
'This is going to do me no harm at all with the company,' he'd told her smugly, before embarking on an exhaustive description of the hotel they'd used as a base, and the amount of champagne that had been drunk over the weekend.
She was pleased for him, naturally. After all, the success of his career was vital for their future, as she constantly reminded herself.
But she still hadn't told him where she was working, or Declaims part in it all, and with every day that passed it became more difficult.
It wasn't altogether her fault, she told herself a touch defensively. She'd tried several times to mention her job, but Jeremy had brushed her attempts aside with a brief, 'Good for you, sweetheart.' And eventually she'd given up.
Nor could she say that the evening they'd spent visiting various nightclubs had been unmitigated pleasure either. She liked to dance, but Jeremy had seemed to prefer propping up the bar and pointing out various celebrities, whose names, frankly, meant very little to her.
'Why did we come, if we're just going to stand about all night?' she'd asked him, tugged between amusement and exasperation.
'To be seen,' he'd told her, with total seriousness.
It had been almost a relief when she could plead an early meeting at work the following morning to cut the evening short.
But this weekend would be different, she told herself with determination, because Jeremy had promised to spend her birthday doing exactly what she wanted. He'd been full of extravagant ideas, she remembered, smiling. Tickets for a top show officially sold out for months ahead but obtainable through 'connections.' A table at the newest and most fashionable restaurant—again like gold dust, he assured her. Or he could arrange, through a client of his firm, a trip in a hot air balloon, or a drive round a leading motor racing circuit in a Formula One car.
But she'd managed to persuade him that she wanted none of these things.
'I'd like a really quiet day,' she'd coaxed him. 'I haven't been on the river yet I thought we could go down to Greenwich—or to the Tower.'
'The Tower of London?' He'd given her a look of total incredulity. 'Whatever for?'
'Because I've never been,' she'd said patiently. She'd paused. 'And I've started taking an interest in history again,' she'd added, with slight awkwardness.
'But it's the kind of thing foreign tourists do,' he'd persisted sulkily.
She'd laughed, trying to win him round. 'OK, if it will make you feel better, let's talk in French all the time we're there. And then I'll cook you a special dinner back at the flat It'll be fun.'
They wouldn't be under scrutiny this time, she thought, with a flutter of nervous excitement, because Sasha was spending the weekend with friends in Richmond But she'd save that piece of information as her own special surprise for him, because she wanted the evening to evolve gently— naturally.
Jeremy had shrugged. 'Well—if that's what you want,' he'd said flatly. 'I just hope to God we don't see anyone I know.'
It hadn't been the response she'd hoped for, but when it came to it she was sure he'd enter into the spirit of the thing. And on Sunday, she planned happily, maybe she could persuade him to hire a couple of horses and ride with her in the park.
At the same time she felt a little guilty, because she knew her family were disappointed that she wasn't going home for the weekend.
But she needed to spend time with Jeremy, to recapture all the old ease and understanding they'd enjoyed, and move the relationship on.
That, she thought, was the most important thing. Without the physical commitment they were only leading half a life. It was no wonder there were problems.
Perhaps when they finally belonged to each other they'd be closer mentally and emotionally too. And there'd be no room for anyone else, even in her thoughts and dreams.
When she returned from her lunch-break on Friday, most of which she'd spent food-shopping for her birthday dinner, she found a cassette on her desk from Declan, saying he'd be out for the rest of the day, and she was free to go once she'd dealt with the material on the tape.
Brilliant, Olivia thought joyfully. She'd planned a menu that could be prepared ahead anyway, and this would give her all the time she could possibly need.
She sped through her work, grabbed her bag and fled, ignoring a spiteful comment from Carol about switching to part-time working.
As she fitted her key into the lock there was a flurry of barking and Humph joined her, his tail wagging furiously, followed closely by Sasha.
'You're early, darling.' She held o
ut a yellow padded envelope. 'This package came for you by messenger. Were you expecting something?'
Olivia smiled at her as she bent to stroke Humph, who was frisking round her legs. 'No, but it's my birthday tomorrow. Maybe that's got something to do with it'
'Oh, how exciting. I love birthday surprises. My beloved was so good at them.' Sasha clapped her hands. 'Do open it, darling.'
Laughing, Olivia obeyed, extracting a beribboned box of Belgian chocolates, and a card bearing a reproduction of Van Gogh's Sunflowers.
Sweetheart,
Sorry I can't be with you tomorrow, but Tom's off sick and I'm being sent to a conference in Edinburgh in his place. Just one of those things, I guess. Have a wonderful time, anyway.
With love, Jeremy
'What beautiful chocolates,' Sasha enthused, then, her voice sharpening, 'Olivia, are you all right? You look quite ill.'
'No.' Olivia grabbed frantically at her control. 'I'm fine—really. I—I'd made some plans, you see, which aren't going to happen after all. I'm a bit disappointed.'
'You look totally shattered,' Sasha told her candidly. 'Let me make you some coffee with a lot of brandy in it.'
'I'm not ill,' Olivia assured her. She pinned on a smile. 'Just making a fuss about nothing.
'Hmm.' Sasha gave her a dubious look. 'Well, if you say so, of course.'
When the older woman had pattered back to her own premises, Olivia took the lid off the dustbin and dropped the chocolates and the card inside, following them up with the bags of food she'd chosen so happily.
Her eyes were burning and her throat hurt She should have agreed to the balloon ascent, or the trendy restaurant, she thought bitterly. Then she wouldn't be spending the weekend alone.
And how strange—and how telling—that she didn't believe Jeremy had been forced into this conference at all. It was simply a useful excuse for him to seize on.
And chocolates too—the world's most impersonal gift As if she was one of his damned clients, instead of the girl he claimed to love.
She let herself into her flat and curled up in a corner of the sofa, arms wrapped round her body.
